


Aftermath

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid - Fandom
Genre: Counseling, F/M, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9414548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: Follow-up to Before It's Too Late.Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry ;)





	

When he’d told you it was going to be okay, you’d believed him - and to an extent, it was - you were alive, but there was so much more to life than being alive. 

After the initial shock wore off a few hours later, the adrenaline evening out in your system, you’d become lethargic and worn, falling asleep on Spencer’s shoulder while he was filling out the paperwork for you release. That was the first time it happened; standing up in the middle of the hospital, you closed your eyes, feeling as if you were once again inside that small coffin, the air being sucked from your lungs as external pressure nearly crushed you. Seconds after closing your eyes, you’d started screaming - clawing at the air as if you were still trying to claw out of the coffin. You weren’t there anymore. 

But it felt like you were.

It still did. Nearly two months had passed and you still woke up screaming every single night, afraid you were trapped in the small confines of a rickety, wooden box. Every night, you’d wake up in a cold sweat, screaming, flailing, crying, while Spencer tried to calm you, taking you in his arms and holding you close. “It’s okay,” he’d whisper. “You’re not there anymore. You’re with me.” Maybe you’d be able to fall asleep for a while afterwards, feeling a bit more comforted with his arms around you, but if he slipped away from you, in the tossing and turning of the night, you’d wake up again, repeating the process until he could comfort you once more. 

You were so tired.

Sleep eluded you. It came in spurts of a couple of hours at best - it was so broken, just as you were. The man who’d done this, an acquaintance of Spencer’s, had meant to torture Spencer, watch him crumble - you were just a tool for him to use. Every time you woke up screaming, you felt the degree to how much you were used. You’d look at Spencer trying to comfort you, believing that nothing he did was good enough, blaming himself, and it would tear you apart inside. Even though you had been the one in the physical box, he’d put you both in an emotional one. You had to break out of it together.

After another month of tossing, turning, screaming, flailing and crying, you’d had enough. Your body was breaking apart at the seams from lack of sleep, as was your mind - Spencer’s too. Neither one of you could continue to go on like this. “Baby,” you said one night as you started to fall asleep on the couch, “I think we need to go to counseling. Together.”

“I’ve been trying to help you myself, but I’m not enough.”

Bringing your hand to your mouth to stifle a sob did nothing. “That’s just it, Spence. You are enough. I wouldn’t be here physically or emotionally if it weren’t for you, but I can’t stop waking up in the middle of the night and you can’t stop blaming yourself. I can see it in your eyes every time I wake up. You’ll go with me?”

He nodded yes as you started to fall asleep on the couch. You figured sleeping upright with his arms around you might make a difference, so you fell asleep, hoping to get a good night’s sleep.

—————–

Instead of waking up screaming every two hours that night, it seemed to be two and a half to three hours between episodes. That day you made an appointment with a trauma counselor, someone who specialized in traumatic events, not necessarily this extreme, but someone who was near qualified to help you through the aftermath of what you’d been through. Saturday was the earliest you could get; you couldn’t wait. There had to be a way for you both to move past this - you were afraid if you didn’t it would tear apart your relationship, and that was something you couldn’t handle.

—————–

Spencer had never been one to talk about his feelings unless asked, so when he started pouring his soul out to the counselor that Saturday you knew how much this incident had damaged him. Shakily, you recounted what you could remember about that day, focusing on what it felt like inside the coffin. “I can’t sleep more than two hours before I wake up screaming and flailing as if I’m still in there. Having his arms around me is the only thing that helps at all. I don’t know what to do,” you told her.

“And are you just here for emotional support, Dr. Reid?” she asked. “Or is there something else?”

Rather than speak, he just started to tear up, so you told her why he’d come. “He can’t stop blaming himself. The man that took me was an old acquaintance of his and he feels that he’s not ‘doing enough’ to help me now. But I don’t blame him. We both need to find a way past this or it’s gonna tear us apart,” you cried, “and I can’t handle that.”

That day, and for weeks after, you both continued to go to the counselor, listening to her advice and taking it into account. She’d suggested that as long as you were both physically comfortable on the couch, that you should sleep there for the time being, basically weaning yourself back into sleeping in bed. When she’d originally told you her theory, it made sense. “I think lying down is making you think that you’re still there, so if sitting up partially and sleeping makes those episodes less frequent, do that for now.”

Besides your sleeping problems, Spencer needed to stop blaming himself, so that was the other issue you worked on in your sessions. Every time you were there, she’d make sure you faced each other and held hands. 

“Y/N,” she’d start, “do you blame Spencer for what happened to you?”

“No, I don’t. I never have and I never will. This was his fault, not yours,” you’d reply. Then she’d ask Spencer if he blamed himself for the lives he couldn’t save on the job. He said he always did to some degree, but considering how many lives they’d saved, he had to focus on that otherwise he couldn’t do his job.

“Well, that’s how you need to think of this,” she spoke. “She’s alive. She’s alive because of you and your team. She’s alive for you to work on this together. Look at the big picture. She’s here. You have to do that with victims because you couldn’t do your job otherwise right? Well, you have to look at the big picture here or your relationship will be affected.”

After months of these meetings, your sleeping patterns improved and his self-blame began to dissipate, but it would be a long road. Tonight was the first time in months that the doctor had suggested you try sleeping in bed again. You’d gotten down to only one screaming session a night and considering it had been five, six or seven before, that was quite an improvement. “Do you want to start out with me holding you?” he asked. 

Instead of backing up into him, you turned toward him so you were face-to-face. “No, let’s just try this for now.” You grabbed his hand and leaned in, giving him a chaste, but lengthy kiss. “Thank you,” you whispered, bringing his hand up to your face, “for everything you’ve done and continue to do.”

“I meant what I said the day I found you,” he replied. “It’s gonna be okay. It may be tomorrow, it may be a month from now, it may take another year, but we’re going to get through this…together.”


End file.
